


"The Angel Stream IV: Spring Break"

by Gaedhal



Series: "The Angel Stream" [4]
Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-30
Updated: 2017-04-09
Packaged: 2018-10-12 19:56:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 20,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10498380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gaedhal/pseuds/Gaedhal
Summary: It's Spring Break and Brian has plans for a getaway with Justin.Some of my readers think this particular fic is the "schmoopiest" section of my schmoopiest series, "The Angel Stream." You be the judge.





	1. Chapter 1

Pittsburgh, March 2005

 

“Hey, Mom.”

Jennifer Taylor stared, open-mouthed, at her son, Justin, who was sitting at the kitchen table drinking a glass of milk.

“Justin! What are you doing here, honey?” Jennifer set down a bag of groceries on the counter. The last person she had expected to see on that sunny March Saturday was her son.

“I came down from Dartmouth for the weekend,” said Justin, getting up to refill his glass. “I needed to get something from the house, so I thought I’d wait for you to get home. Is Dad at the store?”

Jennifer nodded as she began to put the groceries away. “He’ll be so surprised to see you!”

“Well, if you don’t mind, Mom, I’d rather you didn’t tell him I was here. It... it might be too hard to explain,” said Justin.

“Explain?” Jennifer frowned. “What do you mean? Why didn’t you call before you came home? Is something the matter, darling?”

“No,” said Justin. “Nothing’s the matter. Far from it. Everything’s great.” Justin smiled to himself. “Really, really great.”

A cold feeling crept through Jennifer as she began to realize what was going on. And why Justin was home from college in the middle of the term. “Did you get a ride from New Hampshire with someone?”

“No, actually,” Justin replied coolly. “I flew. From Boston. And I’m flying back on Monday morning.”

Jennifer swallowed. “How can you afford to fly from Boston to Pittsburgh, and then back again, just for the weekend?”

“I can’t,” said Justin, looking directly at his mother. “But Brian can afford it. He bought my ticket.”

“Brian,” Jennifer repeated. A man who Justin had been seeing over Christmas Break. A man more than 10 years older than her son. Jennifer knew that Justin had slept with this man – in fact spent every night of his vacation with him after they had met on Christmas Eve. But Jennifer had assumed that when Justin returned to school that would be the end of it. Obviously, she had been mistaken.

“Brian paid for my ticket and that’s where I’m staying,” Justin drank down the rest of his milk and rinsed the glass out in the sink. “At Brian’s loft. That’s why I came home this weekend – to be with my boyfriend.”

Jennifer winced when Justin said that word. Boyfriend.

“Justin, please think about what you’re doing,” Jennifer pleaded. “This man is... he’s in his 30’s! He’s much too old for you! What would your father say if he ever found out about what you’re doing?”

Justin licked his lips nervously. “He will find out, Mom. If not now, then as soon as I graduate. Because right after Commencement I’m moving in with Brian. I’m going to live with my boyfriend and I don’t care who knows it. So I’m telling you now. If you want to tell Dad, that’s fine. My tuition is paid up until the end of the year. Which means that Dad can’t pull me out of school. Winter Term is almost over, and all I have to do is finish up my final credits for Spring Term and I’m done. Finished. Finally! Then I’ll have my precious Dartmouth degree, just like Dad wanted.” 

“And what you wanted, too, darling,” Jennifer added.

Justin turned away from his mother and gazed out the kitchen window. The sun was shining brightly and it really looked like spring was on its way. 

“No, Mom. It isn’t what I wanted – and you know it. I wanted to go to the Institute of Fine Art here in Pittsburgh. That was my dream. But Dad killed that dream. And you helped him. But you two are not going to kill the rest of my fucking life! I’m moving in with Brian and there’s nothing either of you can do about it. I’m 22 years old. I’m not a child. I’m a man. A gay man. That’s the reality. And if you don’t like it, you can fucking lump it!”

Jennifer recoiled at Justin’s rudeness. He had never been confrontational. Far from it! Justin had always been a quiet, well-behaved child. The perfect son. It had to be the influence of this Brian person that was turning her beautiful son into a stranger!

“I better get going,” said Justin, reaching for his coat, which was hanging on the back of the kitchen chair. “I got what I needed. Here’s the number of Brian’s loft.” Justin jotted it down on his mother’s shopping list. “You know my cell number.”

“You said you came here to get something,” said Jennifer, trying to keep Justin there, as if holding on to him for five more minutes would make a difference. “Do you need more clothes, honey?”

“No,” said Justin. “I have plenty of clothes, Mom. I came to get my passport. Brian is taking me on a trip over Spring Break.”

“A... a trip?” Jennifer’s heart was skipping. That man was taking her son out of the country! 

“Yeah, to the British Virgin Islands. We’re going to a gay resort,” Justin smirked. “Nothing but sand, sun, and wall-to-wall gorgeous guys – all clothing optional!” 

“Clothing... op... optional?” Jennifer stammered. “You mean... a nudist colony?”

Justin rolled his eyes. “Nudist colony? Jesus, Mom! That is so fucking ‘breeder’! It’s a resort for gay men! What do we need clothes for? Brian and I are going to have our own cottage with a deck and a pool and 24-hour room service! We’re going to do nothing but lie in the sun and swim and eat and drink big cocktails with fruit in them – and fuck our brains out! In other words, the perfect vacation.”

Jennifer sat down at the kitchen table. She suddenly felt lightheaded. “Oh, Justin! You can’t be serious!”

“I’m very serious, Mom,” Justin countered. “This is my first real vacation with my boyfriend and I’m planning to enjoy every minute of it! And I don’t care what you, or Dad, or anyone else thinks!”

There was a soft tone and Justin pulled his cell out of his pocket. “Brian? Yeah, I’m ready. I got my passport. And I told my mom about the big plans. Okay, I’ll meet you in front of the house.” Justin put away his cell. “Brian’s turning down our street, Mom, so I have to go. I’ll call you when I get back to Dartmouth. Bye!”

And before Jennifer could respond her son was out the back door and down the driveway, on his way to meet his boyfriend.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brian has some news about the trip.

Pittsburgh, March 2005

 

Justin rushed out of his parents’ house like it was on fire.

Every time he came home he found himself getting more and more angry over the way they had treated him over the past four years. It had mainly been his father, but now this argument with his mother proved to Justin that she also didn’t get it. 

Justin hated fighting, but his mother wasn’t even trying to understand! And if it was that bad trying to deal with Jennifer Taylor, who was at least sympathetic to her son, Justin thought, how much worse will it be when Craig Taylor, who often spouted homophobic sentiments and was a firm supporter of Mayor Stockwell’s ‘Family Friendly Pittsburgh’ campaign, found out that his own son was one of the ‘degenerates’ he loved to denigrate?

Justin shuddered to think about it. That was a confrontation he was anxious to postpone for as long as possible.

Then Justin saw the dark green Corvette pull into the driveway.

“Brian!” Justin yanked open the door and slid into the bucket seat. “Just in time!”

“Did you miss me, twerp?” Brian smirked. They had been apart less than two hours.

“What do you think?” Justin grinned back.

Brian leaned over and kissed Justin softly on the lips. Then Brian put his arms around him and kissed him harder. And Justin kissed Brian back as hard as he was able.

Justin felt a thrill surge through his body. It wasn’t only Brian’s presence, but the fact that they were making out in the driveway of his parents’ house. That his mother might he watching from the front window. Or that his father’s car could pull up at any minute and he might see his son and his lover, kissing in front of the house! Justin almost wanted it to happen, right there and then. It would save him having to come out to his father later. But, of course, Craig Taylor was still at the store and not due home until much later that evening, so it was a moot point.

“Are you hungry?” Brian asked, putting the Vette into gear and backing out of the drive.

Justin laughed. “You already know the answer to that! I’m always hungry.”

“Let’s hit the diner,” said Brian. “Then we can decide what we want to do tonight, okay?”

“Sure.” Justin reached over and squeezed Brian thigh as he drove. “Whatever you want to do is fine with me. I’m all yours until Monday morning.”

Brian glanced down at Justin’s hand, which was inching up his leg toward his crotch. “You better watch that or I might run off the road and we’ll spend the evening in the Emergency Room!”

Justin moved his hand back down, closer to Brian’s knee, but he didn’t take it away completely. “Sorry about that.”

“Listen, Justin,” Brian began. “After I dropped you off at your mom’s place I went down to the office to pick up a few things. And Gardner was there – working.”

“On a Saturday?” Justin made a face. 

Justin’s father was always at the store on weekends, but Justin had thought of an advertising agency as a weekday, 9-to-5 kind of job. However, after spending time around Brian, Justin had soon learned that his boyfriend almost never stopped working. He frequently stayed late at the office or took clients to dinner or to sporting events to entertain them. And at the loft Brian was often on the computer until very late, working on an account. 

“Yes,” Brian replied. “Gardner practically lives at Vangard. It’s his baby and he’s obsessed with it. That means the poor bastard has very little social life. I don’t know what the guy does to blow off steam – and I don’t want to know. What breeders do in their spare time is one of those peculiar territories I’d rather not explore.”

“Maybe he bowls?” Justin suggested. “Or goes to Civil War Re-enactments? Or hangs out at strip clubs? That’s about as ‘breeder’ as I can think of.”

“No,” Brian shook his head. “Gardner is a Brit, so I doubt that the Civil War and bowling are on his radar screen. And as for chasing pussy... if he indulges, he does it very quietly and – thank God! – doesn’t confide in me about it.”

“That’s good,” Justin agreed. “My roommate is always bitching to me about his girlfriend and telling me stuff about their sex life that I’d rather not hear.”

“Thank God for small favors,” said Brian. “But... here’s the thing. Our trip... for your Spring Break....” But then Brian paused and looked away as he stopped the Vette at a red light.

Justin got a sinking feeling. “What about our trip, Brian? Is there a... a problem?”

“Yeah, there’s a problem,” Brian sighed. “Gardner just told me that Leo Brown, one of our biggest clients, is coming into town. Brown Athletics is one of my accounts and I’m involved in every aspect of their campaign. Which means that if Leo Brown comes to Pittsburgh, I have to be here.”

Justin swallowed. “And he’s coming into town the week of my Spring Break? Is that it, Brian?”

“Yes.” Brian nodded. “That’s it, Justin. I’m sorry. Really fucking sorry.”

“So our trip is off,” Justin said, almost to himself.

“It’s business, kid,” said Brian. “The irony is that I haven’t been on a vacation in almost three years. And after all the time I had to take off because of the cancer, I almost hesitated to ask for it this time, even though I have it coming to me. But now, when I really want to take that time off... Shit! It’s fucked up, I know. But it’s also out of my control.”

“That’s all right, Brian,” Justin tried to smile. He didn’t want to show Brian his disappointment. And Justin knew he had no right to feel disappointed. Brian had already done so much for him already, much more than Justin had a right to expect. Brian had paid for plane tickets so that Justin could visit him on weekends. He’d taken Justin to great restaurants and clubs. Included Justin in events with his Liberty Avenue family, such as Debbie’s Christmas dinner. Brian had even shared time with his son, Gus, with Justin. Not to mention all of the amazing sex!

But the thought of just the two of them going away together to a tropical resort had seemed so romantic, so exciting! Like they were a real, true couple. It was almost like... like a honeymoon. Justin didn’t dare say that aloud because he knew Brian’s cynical thoughts about marriage, but that’s how it had felt when Brian told him the plans. Like the perfect honeymoon. And now it wasn’t going to happen.

“It doesn’t matter, Brian,” Justin said stoically. “We’ll have a whole week together. I mean, if you still want me to hang around during my Spring Break. If I won’t be in your way?”

Brian looked at Justin seriously. “If you still want to, even without the trip. Maybe there’s something else you’d rather do? Or somewhere else you’d rather go – with your college friends? Where do the Ivy Leaguers party these days? Cancun? Aspen?”

Justin moved his hand up Brian’s leg and brushed his fingers softly against the crotch of his worn 501’s. Brian’s cock jumped at the touch.

“This Ivy Leaguer will be partying in Pittsburgh for Spring Break,” Justin explained. “At a very exclusive gay resort called The Loft. It’s secluded and clothing-optional. And invitation-only. That is, if I have an invitation?”

Brian smiled. “Yes, you have an invitation, you little twat. You really know how to twist me around your little finger, don’t you?”

Justin leaned against Brian, his lips as close to his ear as Justin could get without interfering with Brian’s steering. “It isn’t my little finger that I’m thinking of. It’s something much larger that I want you twisted around. MUCH larger! And much more insistent!”

“I think that can be taken care of,” Brian said, turning the Corvette around and heading directly back to the loft. The diner could wait until later. Or they could always order in. Afterwards. “And we don’t need to leave the country to do it. In fact, it can be worked on tonight. And tomorrow, too.”

“Good,” Justin whispered, squeezing Brian’s cock gently. “Let’s get started right away.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A small gift from Justin.

Pittsburgh, March 2005

 

After Brian dropped Justin off at the airport early on Monday morning, he spent the rest of the week burying himself in work at Vangard.

Leo Brown’s impeding visit to Pittsburgh had everyone scurrying with the proofs for the new underwear campaign featuring Ironmen quarterback Drew Boyd. There was new copy to write, new photos to approve, and a new presentation to prepare. Gardner was yelling at everyone in sight and no one left the building before 7 or 8 in the evening, with Brian often staying on much later, working at his desk alone in an empty office.

On Friday Cynthia brought Brian a large envelope and laid it in front of him.

“What’s this?” Brian frowned as he picked it up.

“I don’t know, but it just came. And it’s marked ‘Personal,’” Cynthia said, raising her eyebrows. “Got a new pen pal, Brian?”

Brian noted the New Hampshire postmark. “Maybe.”

He opened the envelope slowly and pulled out a large piece of cardboard. Then he smiled. And then he laughed.

“That little son of a bitch!” he said.

“What?” Cynthia was dying to know who it was who was sending Brian personal mail at the office. “Let me see!”

Brian hesitated for a moment and then showed it to her. Why the fuck not? She’d find out eventually. It was impossible to keep secrets from Cynthia for very long. 

It was a mock-up for an advertisement.

“‘The Loft,’” Cynthia read aloud. “Exclusive Gay Resort! Centrally located in Colorful Pittsburgh, Near Liberty Avenue and the Fun-filled Gay District. Open Bar. Personal Services Available 24 hours. Clothing Optional. By Invitation Only. B. Kinney, proprietor.’” There was a sketch of a large platform bed in the center of the ad and another very life-like line drawing of Brian at the bottom.

“Well, what do you think of my new campaign?” Brian asked her.

“This is actually good, Brian!” Cynthia exclaimed. “I’ve seen a lot worse coming out of our own Art Department.”

Brian grinned. “I know. It is pretty good, isn’t it? I think I’ll have it framed.”

“You’re not going to hang this in your office, are you? Vance will have a fit!” Cynthia giggled at the thought of Gardner Vance’s reaction. Brian’s sexuality was no secret at Vangard, but she could tell that it made the Big Boss very uncomfortable.

“No, I won’t hang it in here,” Brian replied. “I don’t want Gardner or any of his rich homophobic clients to freak out. Besides, this is mine. I’m going to put in on my desk at home.”

“So,” said Cynthia. “Are you going to spill – or just let me keep guessing? What’s going on? Who is this guy, Brian?” She tapped the envelope. “New Hampshire? Are you seeing a ski instructor? Where did you meet him? I want to know all of the gory details!”

Brian shrugged. “There’s nothing to tell,” he said vaguely.

“Nothing to tell?” Cynthia almost shouted. “Brian, don’t bullshit me! You had me make reservations for a week at a very fancy gay resort down in the Caribbean – until I had to cancel them when you found out that Brown would be coming that week. Now you going to a hot gay resort isn’t so strange – except that it was a reservation for TWO. Brian Kinney and...? Once upon a time I might have thought you were taking your friend Michael, but not since he’s a married man. And not to a place like that. You don’t go to a place like that with a friend. You go to a place like that with a lover! So, are you going to tell me? Or do I have to beat it out of you?” 

Cynthia waited for a response, but Brian was silently regarding the cardboard mock-up. 

How much did he want to tell Cynthia? Brian kept staring at Justin’s ad. It really was good. Justin should have been studying art instead of wasting four years of college on Business courses he had no intention of using. Still, no knowledge was ever truly a waste. Maybe he could work here, at Vangard? With an artistic eye and a Business degree he’d be perfect for an entry-level position in advertising. Except that wasn’t what Justin wanted to do with his life. He didn’t want to be an ad man. He wanted to be an artist. 

“Cynthia,” Brian said finally. “I want you to do a little research for me. Find me a place – a resort, a hotel, a bed-and-breakfast, something like that. Out in the country, but also not too far from the Pitts. I don’t want to have to drive too long. For the end of that same week I had reserved for my vacation. Leo Brown is scheduled to leave on Thursday, so that gives me the weekend at least.”

Cynthia took out her pad and made some notes. “Gay only?”

“Not necessarily,” said Brian. “But it has to be gay-friendly. I don’t want any nasty surprises when we get there.”

“We?” asked Cynthia. “Is this a replacement for your Caribbean fuck-fest?”

Brian wrinkled his nose. “You’re making something beautiful sound so... so sordid. Hot, but sordid.”

“That doesn’t answer my question, Brian,” Cynthia asserted. “About your ski instructor? Who is he?”

“He’s not a ski instructor,” said Brian, gazing at Justin’s ad for ‘The Loft.’ “He’s a student. At Dartmouth. Hence the New Hampshire postmark.”

“Dartmouth, huh?” said Cynthia. “Getting a little class into your life, I see.”

Brian snorted. “Spoken like the true snob you are, my dear. Well, you may have graduated with Honors from Sarah Lawrence and I may only be a scholarship boy from Penn State, but I’m still your boss. So get the fuck to work.”

“Aye, aye, chief,” Cynthia saluted. “I’m really sorry the Virgin Islands trip didn’t work out for you. But I’ll do my best with this new assignment.” 

“Thanks, Cynthia,” said Brian as she turned to leave the office. “Oh, one more thing.”

“Yes?” Cynthia held up her pen, awaiting instructions.

“This… place...” Brian hesitated. “This hotel... It should be... sort of... you know?”

“What, Brian?” Sometimes Brian was so damn infuriating! Most of the time, actually. “Sort of what?”

“Romantic,” Brian said in a low voice. 

Cynthia blinked. “What did you say?”

“Are you really going to make me say it again?” Brian sighed.

“Yes,” Cynthia insisted. “I want to hear you say it again. I didn’t quite catch it the first time!”

“Bitch,” Brian whispered. “Romantic. I said I want the place to be romantic!”

Cynthia took a deep breath. She had to meet this Dartmouth student! “Romantic,” she repeated, laughing. “Okay, I got it!”

“Good,” said Brian. He’d said that word three times and not choked on it. “Romantic. It has to be romantic.”

And then Brian smiled to himself. The more he said it, the easier it got.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Justin visits Vangard.

Pittsburgh, March 2005

 

“Excuse me,” said Justin to the receptionist. “I’m here to meet Mr. Kinney for lunch. I know I’m a little early, but is there somewhere I can wait for him?”

Alice, the receptionist at the Vangard front desk, looked the young man up and down. Lunch with Brian Kinney? I bet! she thought. There had been a lot of gossip in the break-room about Mr. No-Relationships Kinney finally having a boyfriend, but Alice had been quite skeptical. She'd worked at the Ryder Agency before moving over to Vangard three years before and had observed Brian longer than anyone except his assistant, Cynthia. Alice knew that Brian Kinney was a dedicated gay tomcat, always on the prowl, always looking for new conquests. 

However, if this really was the boyfriend – assuming such a thing existed! – he wasn’t bad. Not bad at all!

“And your name, please?” Alice asked in her best professional manner.

“Justin Taylor,” said Justin, glancing around the waiting room. Brian told Justin that Vangard took up two entire floors of the building, with the offices of Gardner Vance and the other executives in the main suite and the Art Department, Copy Writing, and Accounting upstairs. Justin noted a large abstract painting hanging behind the receptionist’s desk. It wasn’t bad. Derivative of Rothko, but it gave the area a very brisk, modern look.

I should paint something for Brian’s office, Justin mused. Then he shook his head. I don’t even have a place to paint and I’m already planning where I’m going to hang my work. How do I know that Brian would even like my paintings? Or think one of them was good enough to be seen by his clients? All he’s seen are some of the drawings from my sketchbook and that silly ad I made that he put on his desk in the loft. But that was only for fun.

“One moment, Mr. Taylor,” said Alice. “I’ll let Cynthia know you’re here and she can inform Mr. Kinney.”

“Thanks,” said Justin with relief. He’d been afraid Brian might forget about their lunch. Or be too busy and blow him off. Justin knew that one of his major clients was in town to approve Vangard’s new campaign and that everyone at the office – including Brian – was going nuts.

Alice pressed a button on her phone panel. “Cynthia? Mr. Kinney’s luncheon appointment has arrived.”

“Ooo!” Cynthia yelped. “He’s here! Tell me, Alice – what’s he look like?”

“Well....” Alice eyed the young man.

“You can’t say anything because he’s standing there, right?” Cynthia guessed.

“Yes,” said Alice.

“I know he has blond hair. Is he cute?” Cynthia questioned.

“Yes, very,” Alice replied.

“I’ll be out there in two minutes!”

Actually, Cynthia was in the reception area in one and a half minutes. That’s how anxious she was to see her boss’s... what? Boyfriend? Fuck buddy? Lover? She wasn’t even certain how to refer to the guy.

“Justin?” said Cynthia, shaking his hand. “I’m Cynthia, Brian’s assistant.”

“Hi!” Justin grinned at the woman. She was young, blonde, and elegantly dressed – exactly the way Justin had pictured Brian’s assistant. While Brian wasn’t interested in women in general, he liked beautiful things around him and Cynthia was definitely beautiful.

Cynthia took Justin’s arm and led him back into the suite towards Brian’s office. “I’m afraid Brian is still in a meeting with Mr. Vance, Mr. Brown, and Mr. Boyd.”

Justin’s heart sank. “Does that mean he can’t go to lunch with me?”

“Not at all,” Cynthia reassured him. “He’ll only be a little late. Why? Do you have another appointment to go to?” Cynthia already knew that Justin was on his Spring Break and probably didn’t have much else to do but sit around the loft, waiting for Brian to get home.

“Oh, no!” said Justin. “No other appointments.”

Cynthia opened the door of Brian’s office and ushered Justin inside. “Make yourself comfortable.” 

Justin slipped into the chair across from Brian’s desk. “This office reminds me of Brian. All white! The furniture in his loft is white, too. I have to be careful with my art supplies so I won’t get stuff all over his Italian furniture!”

“Brian certainly goes for a very clean, spare look,” Cynthia agreed. “I’ve been to his loft a number of times and it struck me as... um... minimalist.”

“When were you at Brian’s loft?” Justin asked. He knew that Brian liked to keep Work and Home in strictly separated compartments

“Last year,” said Cynthia. “When... when Brian was ill.” 

Cynthia wasn’t sure how much this young man really knew about Brian’s life. She imagined that Brian had told him about having cancer, but then again with Brian you never knew. He could be frustratingly close-mouthed about anything personal. She had only found out about his illness and treatment when she stumbled over Brian slumped on the floor of his office, trembling and too weak from the radiation to get to his feet. That had been a horrible moment! She’d had no choice but to call Gardner Vance, who then sent Brian home for the duration of his treatment. But still Brian hadn't stopped working. Cynthia kept in touch with him through the computer and brought him the material he needed to keep up with his accounts as best he could.

“Oh,” said Justin, looking pensive. “I worry about that all the time. About... the cancer. And whether it might come back.”

“I’m glad Brian has someone to worry about him,” said Cynthia, smiling. “Because Brian doesn’t take enough care of himself. I do the best I can, but...” she rolled her eyes. “There’s only so much I can do here in the office.”

“Brian really likes you,” Justin said suddenly. “I mean, he talks about you. He respects you and Brian doesn’t seem to respect a lot of people. Not even most of his friends. He’s a bit misanthropic. At least, that’s the pose he likes to cultivate.” 

Cynthia nodded. “I think it’s the way he protects himself. I know that he’s an old softie underneath. But don’t you ever tell him that I said that or he’ll throw me out the window!”

Justin laughed. “I won’t betray you, Cynthia, never fear!”

Cynthia had a very good feeling about this young man. There was something about Justin that was so open and winning. Brian could be very charming, but he was far from open. To be around someone – maybe even love someone – who had the openness that Brian lacked could only be good for Brian’s psyche. It might make him trust people more. And it might actually make him happy.

She knew that Justin was about 22 years old, but he seemed younger. And he seemed very unspoiled, too. He wasn’t the kind of jaded club boy who frequented places like Babylon, the gay club where Brian was such a fixture. Cynthia had been to Babylon. She’d been on the club scene. She was even a bit of a fag hag – how could she work for Brian Kinney for over six years and not be a fag hag at heart? She knew the kind of life Brian had been living, the kinds of drugs he took, the amount of booze he consumed, and the number of tricks he collected. And Cynthia also knew how tired he was of it, especially after surviving cancer.

Justin looked at his watch. “I’m getting hungry. I hope Brian isn’t too much longer.”

“It’s been insane in this office,” Cynthia confided. “Nothing but work. I’m sorry about your holiday in the Virgin Islands being canceled, but a lot of vacations have been put on hold this week.”

Justin opened his mouth. “You knew about that? About our trip?”

“Of course I knew!” Cynthia smirked. “I made the reservations!” Then she hesitated. Cynthia wasn’t sure whether Brian had told Justin about the new reservations she had made for the Fieldstone Inn, so she thought she better hold her tongue for the time being. If Brian meant the weekend excursion to be a surprise, she didn’t want to ruin it or Brian really would toss her out the window!

“It’s okay,” Justin shrugged. “I’m glad to have a whole week with Brian. And the loft is great.” Justin had a devilish expression on his face. “It may not be the Virgin Islands, but it’s better than any breeder resort crawling with drunken students on Spring Break!”

“Nope,” said Brian, walking into the office and tossing some papers on the desk. “No breeders on Spring Break! I have other plans for us.”

Justin jumped up from his chair and Brian took him into his arms, kissing him eagerly.

“On that note, I think I have some work to do,” said Cynthia, backing out of the office.

“You bet your ass you do, my dear,” said Brian. “Get lost. And shut the door behind you!”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lunch at Vangard.

Pittsburgh, March 2005

 

“Ah!” Brian cracked. “Alone at last!”

“Are you going to bend me over your desk and have your wicked way with me?” Justin asked hopefully.

“I could – but Cynthia is undoubtedly lurking right outside with her ear pressed against the door.” Brian shifted his eyes to where Cynthia had just exited.

“Do you care?” said Justin. “I mean, if she’s listening?”

“Not really, but let’s say that fucking you on the desktop probably isn’t a good idea at this time,” Brian replied. “Gardner has been riding my ass recently – and not in a good way! Besides, Leo Brown, one of our most prestigious clients, is in the building. It wouldn’t do my reputation any good to be caught with my pants down and my 9-inch cock up your sweet ass, although it would certainly be an improvement on my usual ‘eat in’ lunch experience.”

“Well,” Justin sighed. “It was only a thought.”

“Hold on to that thought,” said Brian. “We can use it when we get home.”

Something about the way Brian said the word ‘home’ gave Justin a strange thrill. Like it really was their home. His and Brian’s. Justin knew that wasn’t really true, but maybe one day it would be. Maybe even soon. As soon as Justin graduated from Dartmouth in June. That is, if Brian was serious about Justin moving in with him.

Brian had mentioned it back in February after he’d been arrested. Justin had taken the bus from Boston to be with him that weekend, but they had never really discussed Brian’s proposal seriously after that. However, Justin had thought about it. Thought about it a lot. Moving in with Brian would be a huge step in his life. It would mean coming out to everyone he knew – his father, all of his family, his friends from St. James Academy, everyone. And for a guy who had been hesitant even to go to meetings of Gay Dartmouth until his senior year was halfway over, that was difficult.

And Brian was another real question mark. Justin knew that Brian’s experience with sex was boundless, but his practice at relationships was almost nil. He had hinted at having connections with a few men in his past that had gone beyond being casual fuck buddies, but he would never elaborate about that part of his life. The only thing we would admit was that a long time ago he’d been very young and very stupid.

Justin was dying to question Brian about those things, but he held himself back. Brian was a man with a lot of secrets and he didn’t like to be ‘cross-examined,’ as he called it. Then he got all defensive and angry. And also very, very vulnerable. Justin thought that the vulnerability was the thing that frightened Brian more than anything else. But it was also one of the things that Justin found the most compelling about him – that underneath his smooth and cold exterior, there was an apprehensive and tender core that almost no one had ever seen. It made Justin feel that he had a knowledge about Brian that no one else had access to. That he was onto something unrevealed that belonged only to him and Brian – Brian’s soul. But Justin saw it. And Justin loved it.

“I was going to take you to lunch at that new sushi place, but there won’t be time,” said Brian. “I’m sorry about that.”

“Oh,” said Justin. 

That’s what he’d been afraid of. Lunch canceled. Their vacation canceled. It was frustrating. But it was also the reality of the working world. Justin thought about all the times his father had missed his events at school. Promised to come to Little League games and never showed. Or when Justin was in the chorus of ‘Bye Bye Birdie.’ His father had said he’d come to the performance, but there had been a big sale at the store that weekend and he never showed up. That was his father’s business. And this was Brian’s business. The difference was that Craig Taylor had never said that he was sorry to his son. Never acted sorry. And never tried to make it up to Justin. But Brian....

“So I ordered lunch to be delivered,” said Brian. “Is that all right?”

Justin grinned. “That’s great! It’ll be fun to eat in your office.”

While they waited for the delivery Brian showed Justin around Vangard. Took him upstairs to the Art Department and introduced him to Murphy, who headed the Brown Athletics graphics team. Then they looked in at the small photography studio and watched as Leo Brown posed for some publicity shots with Ironmen quarterback and spokesmodel Drew Boyd. Then Cynthia caught up with the pair and told them that their food had arrived.

“This is great!” said Justin as they sat on Brian’s desk and ate. Justin picked up a piece of shrimp with his chopsticks and put it up to Brian’s mouth. Justin loved looking at Brian’s lips as they sucked in the shrimp. They were so red. And so talented. Thinking about them gave Justin a shiver.

“I’m glad you like the service here, Mr. Taylor,” Brian laughed. “Is it as good as at ‘The Loft’?”

“Well, this place isn’t clothing-optional,” Justin replied.

“You have such a one-track mind,” Brian said, rolling his eyes. “I like that about you.”

“I was never like this before I met you,” Justin reminded him. “I was a clueless virgin.”

“And now the late-bloomer is catching up.” Brian set down his chopsticks. “Soon you’ll surpass the Master.”

Justin shook his head. “I don’t think so. I think I’d just like to be on the same level as the Master. To be equal. For both if us to be at the same place. On the same page. At the same time.”

Brian paused for a moment before he spoke. “Don’t you want to be the best homosexual you can possibly be? Don’t you want to out-do me, Justin, and all the other queers, too? To be a big fucking success? So you can shove it in your old man’s face and tell anyone who doesn’t like it to fuck off?”

Justin chewed thoughtfully. “Maybe. But I think I’d like to be happy first. I’d like that more than I’d like to shove anything in anyone’s face – even in my father’s. Because if you aren’t happy, then what’s the point of everything else? If you have everything you want, but you’re alone, then how is that being a success? It’s empty. Hollow. Because what if you look around at all you’ve accomplished and there’s no one there to share it with you? I think that matters.”

“Sometimes it’s hard to find the time to be... be happy,” said Brian.

“It’s not hard,” Justin whispered. “You make time to go to the gym, don’t you? Because it’s important. So is this.” And Justin leaned over and kissed Brian. More than kissed him. Sent him a message. This is how you make the time. The time to be happy.

“Leo Brown is going back to Chicago tomorrow morning. Unless there’s a major fuck-up the campaign is all set,” said Brian, taking a deep breath. “Which means I can take off after that. I’ve already told Gardner. And you don’t have to be back at Dartmouth until the Spring Term begins on Tuesday, right?”

“Right, Brian,” Justin said with growing excitement. “Not until Tuesday.”

“So that gives us some time. The weekend and a little more. That kind of time you were talking about. Time to be... to be happy.” Brian felt strange saying like that. But it felt good, too. Instead of that cold, sickly feeling he usually had inside, he felt warm. Alive. Hopeful. Maybe that’s what being happy felt like.

“Do you mean that we’re going on a trip?” Justin wanted to jump up and dance around the office.

“Not far,” said Brian. “Only about an hour’s drive away. But it’ll be fun to fuck in a new place.” Brian reached over and picked up a brochure from his desk. “‘The Fieldstone Inn: Serenity in the midst of the mountains. You will find renewal and rejuvenation as well as the ultimate in luxury at the beautiful Fieldstone Inn.’ Does that sound okay with you?”

“Okay?” exclaimed Justin. “It sounds fantastic! Have you been to this place before?”

“Are you kidding?” Brian snorted. “Cynthia found it. But they have king-sized beds, fireplaces in every room, and bathtubs for two. Perfect for a romantic fuck-fest.”

Justin gaped at Brian. “Did you say ‘romantic’?”

“Yeah,” Brian grumped. “Romantic. Whatever the fuck that means!”

Justin closed his eyes. “It means whatever the fuck you want it to mean, Brian. Whatever WE want it to mean. So don’t be afraid of a word. Because we’ll define it in our own way. It’ll be what we say it means, okay?”

“Okay,” said Brian, grudgingly. “Whatever you say, kid. You’re the boss.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Fieldstone Inn.

The Fieldstone Inn, The Laurel Highlands, Pennsylvania, March 2005

 

“Are you sure this is the right road?” asked Brian. 

It seemed that they were getting farther and farther away from civilization with no sign of any kind of hotel, resort, or any other human habitation.

“I have the map right here, Brian,” said Justin. “And I’m following the directions Cynthia gave us.” Justin peered at the map and then at the road. “This is definitely the right road.” He paused. “I think.”

“Fabulous!” Brian moaned. “If you spy a fucking Motel 6 let me know! We might be spending the night there.”

“We’ll find the inn eventually, Brian,” said Justin. “It’s supposed to be secluded. That’s one of the things it advertises!”

“Secluded is one thing,” Brian replied. “But this place is in fucking Siberia! Look!” He pointed to the hills rising steeply before them. “Aren’t those the Ural Mountains from ‘Dr. Zhivago’?”

“Shut up!” Justin laughed. “You’re such a drama queen when you’re out of your own territory. Hey, slow down!”

Brian slowed the Corvette to a crawl. “What?”

“I think there’s a road up ahead.” Justin looked at the directions. “Fieldstone Road. There’s the sign! This is it!”

“Jesus,” Brian said in relief. “It’s about fucking time!”

He turned the Vette onto a narrow road and although they were already in the mountains the road kept winding higher and higher. 

Brian mumbled something about getting a nosebleed, but Justin was delighted. The countryside was poised between winter and spring and the view of the surrounding mountains and valleys was stark, but beautiful. They passed a farm where a herd of cows, still a little shaggy with their winter coats, stood next to the fence and gazed at the passing car. Then they drove through a small village that seemed mainly made up of antique shops and quaint tearooms.

“Maybe we should stop and eat something now?” Justin suggested.

“Tell your stomach to hang on,” Brian returned. “I want to get to this joint and check in before we go out and get lost again.”

“We were never lost,” Justin insisted. “Besides, isn’t that the point of going to a place like this? Getting lost? Together?”

“Right now I only want to find the fucking place,” Brian said. “And take a piss – and NOT by the side of the road!”

A few minutes later the Fieldstone Inn came into view. It was large a Victorian building situated on top of a rise and framed by a ring of low, dark mountains.

“Wow!” cried Justin. “Look at that!”

“Jesus Christ!” said Brian. “It’s the fucking Bates Motel! If Anthony Perkins is behind the front desk, we’re leaving!”

Brian pulled the Vette up to the front of the Inn. A broad porch reached all the way around the front of the building, which was three stories high and topped by gothic towers and turrets. Up close, it was obvious that the building wasn’t a genuine Victorian mansion, but rather someone’s fanciful notion of what a Victorian mansion should be. A number of wings extended the building in the back and they looked much more modern. The entire place reminded Brian of a set on a Hollywood backlot – all surface and no reality. Bates Motel, indeed!

Brian and Justin carried their bags up the steps and into the lobby. 

If we were at that place in the Caribbean, thought Brian, there would be two hunky bellboys in Speedos to carry our luggage directly to our rooms while the concierge directed two equally hunky waiters to bring us large rum drinks full of exotic fruit. Instead, we’re schlepping our own shit directly into Breeder Central.

Brian may have been dubious, but Justin didn’t care. All he saw as they stepped inside was a huge fieldstone fireplace that crackled brightly and noisily, filling the lobby with warmth and the sweet smell of seasoned wood burning. 

Not Anthony Perkins as Norman Bates, but a grey-haired woman in a blue sweater smiled at them as Brian signed the register at the front desk. “Breakfast is served between 8 and 10 a.m. There’s a small refrigerator in your room, a coffeemaker, and a complimentary fruit basket.”

“What do you know, Justin?” said Brian. “Free fruit!”

But Justin nudged him sharply with his elbow. “Do you have any suggestions for restaurants and activities in the area?” Justin asked the woman politely.

“Of course, honey,” she said, reaching under the desk and pulling out a pile of brochures. “There are some cute places to eat in Wiley, which is right down the road. And a lot of restaurants all over these parts. Here’s a list. They’re all marked on the map. And as for activities, this is antique country. In the winter everyone comes for skiing, but now it’s all about the antique markets.” She handed Justin another map. “These are some of the biggest places, but all you have to do is drive around and look for the signs. You’ll find them.”

“Thanks!” said Justin. “Sounds like fun.”

“Follow me and I’ll show you the room, gentlemen.” The woman took the key and led the way up the carved staircase.

“Antiques, huh?” said Brian. “I thought this was a bastion of breeders, but if there are antiques, there have got to be some queers around.”

“Maybe the queers are selling and the straights are buying?” Justin said as Brian rolled his eyes. “Come on! It’ll be fun. I’ve been to some antique shops up in New Hampshire and I found some good things. Old prints and folk art. Stuff like that.”

“Other people’s junk, you mean?” Brian sniffed. “Dusty old throwaways?”

“Don’t be a stick in the mud, Brian,” Justin warned. “We’re going to have a good time. After all, this was your idea, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Brian admitted. “I guess.”

The staircase was steep, but luckily their room was on the second floor and not up an even steeper flight to the third. The woman opened the door and escorted them inside. A large canopied bed dominated the room, but Justin’s eyes immediately when to the fireplace – another large fieldstone hearth that was lit and burning merrily.

“It might be chilly tonight, so I already laid the fire,” said the woman. “And I put extra blankets on the end of the bed. There’s a large whirlpool bath and a shower in there,” she said, indicating the bathroom. “If you go out for dinner, don’t forget to put the screen in front of the fireplace. And leave your key at the desk downstairs. If there’s anything else you want, just ask.”

“Thanks,” said Brian, trying to tip her.

“Oh, no!” said the woman. “I’m Mrs. York, the owner. If you’d like to leave a gratuity, you can add something to your payment at the end of your stay. I hope you enjoy yourselves, boys.”

“Yeah, I hope so, too,” said Brian with uncertainty. He felt completely out of his element in a place like this.

“We will!” asserted Justin. “It’s perfect!” He was already standing in front of the big fireplace, drinking in the warmth and the aroma of it.

Mrs. York smiled and closed the door behind her, leaving the pair alone.

“Brian! I love this place!” Justin exclaimed. “It reminds me of New Hampshire. All those romantic inns I always see up there but have never been to. Or had anyone to go to with.”

Brian shook his head. “You really do like this place, don’t you? Seriously?”

“Of course!” said Justin, grinning happily. He went to Brian and put his arms around him. “It’s like something in a movie!”

Yeah, thought Brian. A horror movie. All we need is Tallulah Bankhead with a bloody axe bursting through the door to hack us to pieces. He so wanted to say something snarky. Something cynical. About the smokey fireplace. The bed dripping with icky Laura Ashley prints. The fake ambience. Even the complimentary fruit basket with a few sad-looking apples and bananas wrapped with a big red bow. 

But he was looking at Justin’s face. Trying to see it all through Justin’s eyes. And Justin wasn’t seeing the phoniness. He was seeing a romantic place to make love. A place where it was just the two of them.

So Brian smiled back. “I think we have time to check out that whirlpool tub before we have to go out and search for a place to have dinner. After all that driving I could use a good soak to take the kinks out of my back.”

“I can help you with that,” Justin declared, rubbing his hands up and down Brian’s back. “I can help you with a lot of things.”

“You can?” said Brian, shrugging off his jacket and unbuttoning his shirt. “Let’s see about that. We might as well start right away. After all, we have the entire weekend to explore.”

“Yes,” Justin agreed. “There’s a lot to be explored. And I’m anxious to get started.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First night at the Inn.

Wiley, The Laurel Highlands, Pennsylvania, March 2005

 

Because Brian didn’t feel like driving all over the mountains looking for one of the supposedly decent restaurants on Mrs. York’s list, they decided that a pizza at Angelo’s, the pizzeria in Wiley, the village they had passed through on their way to the Fieldstone Inn, would do the trick.

Brian was hungry and Justin was positively starving by the time they got there and ordered, so Brian was willing to accept anything they happened to slop on the plate. However, he was pleasantly surprised by the food. The pizza wasn’t bad at all. And the cold Rolling Rock beer, which was brewed not far from there, also hit the spot.

The only fly in the proverbial ointment was the young waitress. From the minute Brian and Justin walked into the place she was falling all over Brian. She kept coming back to their table again and again, refilling their water glasses, bringing unneeded napkins, and asking constantly if their pizza was okay.

“Jesus,” Brian whispered to Justin. “She keeps bumping her tits against my back every time she comes over here.”

“She likes you,” said Justin, greatly amused. “Maybe we should invite her back to the inn for a three-way? That certainly would make for a new and different experience – at least for me.”

Brian snorted. “If you want THAT, you’ll have to find it on your own! I don’t go hunting pussy under any circumstances. Especially not when my dance card is already filled up for the weekend.”

Justin grinned at that. “Should we start making out? That might give her the hint.”

“Right,” Brian replied. “And get our asses kicked from here to Pittsburgh by the neighborhood rednecks! Finish eating and we’ll get the fuck out of here. I have better plans for the rest of the night than flirting with the locals.”

Justin stuffed the last slice of sausage pizza into his mouth while Brian paid the bill. What the fuck, Brian thought, leaving the enamored waitress a large tip. We might have to eat here again before we leave. But he also made certain to take hold of Justin’s hand before they walked outside to the Vette.

Back at the Fieldstone Inn an elderly man was stationed behind the front desk when they stopped to retrieve their key. “I’m Fred York,” he told them. “I hope you’re enjoying your stay so far.”

“We are!” Justin exclaimed. “It’s beautiful here in the mountains.”

“We’ll let you know on Monday morning when we check out,” said Brian, more guardedly.

“By the way,” said Mr. York as he handed Brian his key. “My wife forgot to ask when you checked in, but for honeymooners we provide a complimentary bottle of champagne.”

Brian choked at the word ‘honeymoon,’ but Justin immediately blurted, “Yes! We’d like the champagne!”

“Down boy!” Brian ordered, tugging at Justin’s arm. “No, we aren’t on a honeymoon or any other such ritual execution, but we would like that champagne brought up. You can put it on my bill.”

“Certainly, Mr. Kinney,” said Mr. York. “It’ll be sent right up.”

“Brian, why didn’t you let him give us the free bottle?” Justin asked as they climbed the staircase. 

“Because, Justin,” Brian stated. “We aren’t breeders. We aren’t on our honeymoon, whatever the fuck that means. And I can afford to buy a bottle of champagne. We don’t need to act like we’re something we aren’t in order to get it.”

“I know,” said Justin. “But it’s kind of fun to imagine, isn’t it?”

“No,” said Brian, flatly. “Just because we’re in the middle of Breeder Haven doesn’t mean that we have to pretend to be anything we’re not. We’re queers. We’re here to fuck, not to ‘honeymoon.’”

“I think it’s the same thing, Brian,” said Justin. “Or so I’ve been told.”

Brian unlocked the door of their room. “I wouldn’t know – and I’m not planning to find out any time soon.¬Or ever.”

A few minutes later the old man brought up the champagne in a bucket of ice. He began to fiddle with the cork.

“Never mind. I’ll open it,” said Brian, practically pushing Mr. York out the door.

“Don’t forget – breakfast from 8 to 10 in the morning,” said the old man before Brian closed the door.

“We’ll be there,” said Brian, locking the door. “Christ! Next time we’ll get a cabin AWAY from civilization. No Mikey to walk in on us, no horny waitresses, no helpful innkeepers – nobody!”

Justin put another log on the fire. “How about a desert island? Like on ‘Lost’?”

“Too many fucking people there, too!” Brian huffed. He got undressed and put on his blue silk dressing gown. “I’m going to let the champagne chill a little before I open it.”

“Sounds good to me.” Justin opened up his suitcase and pulled out his bathrobe. It was a white terry cloth robe that he used to go back and forth from his dorm room to the shower.

“You need a completely new wardrobe,” Brian sniffed at the ratty bathrobe. “What kind of homosexual are you with a thing like that? It’s awful!”

“I’m a college student kind of homosexual, Brian,” Justin replied. “My mom bought me this before I left for Dartmouth. She doesn’t usually shop at Armani or Prada. And I don’t think she imagined at the time that I’d need a fancy silk robe to go away for dirty weekends with my male lover.”

“Then I’ll have to handle updating your closet myself,” said Brian, scanning the room. He had already turned off the lamps, leaving only the light from the fire to illuminate the room. “But now – first things first.”

There was a rug in front of the hearth, but it looked a little thin. Then he remembered the extra blankets on the end of the bed. There were two of them, thick and warm-looking. Brian shook out one and then the other and laid them down in front of the fireplace.

“What are you doing?” asked Justin.

“This,” said Brian. And before Justin knew what was happening he was on his back on top of the blankets and his terry cloth bathrobe had been discarded.

“I was wondering when we were going to get around to this,” Justin laughed. They had actually already fucked in the whirlpool, but it had been rather cramped in the tub and a little hurried because they were both hungry and wanted to get to dinner. But now they had all the time in the world.

Justin thought Brian’s golden skin looked on fire in the glow of the hearth. He was like a primeval creature. Something feral and untameable. That made Justin a little frightened. And very excited.

Brian thought the floor was a little too hard, even with the blankets cushioning them, and it was a little too warm for real comfort in front of the open flames. But this was only a place to start. That big, silly canopied bed had plenty of bounce to it. He planned to move the action there when things got serious. But until then this was perfect. The fire was making Justin’s skin flush to a deep pink, hot and moist to the touch. 

Or maybe it wasn’t the fire.

Maybe it was everything.

Brian buried his face in that hot skin and breathed in like a man who had been drowning before and who finally reaches the air. His own personal air. Saved. Alive. 

Finally.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Decisions.

The Fieldstone Inn, The Laurel Highlands, Pennsylvania, March 2005

 

Brian opened his eyes and for a moment he wasn’t sure where he was.

It was the yards of Laura Ashley fabric hanging over his head that confused him. He thought he’d died and been reincarnated as a femme dyke with really bad taste.

Then Justin rolled over on top of him and he remembered that they were in the Fieldstone Inn.

They had done all of the preliminaries on the floor in front of the blazing fire, but for the serious fucking Brian had picked Justin up – it always surprised Brian how solid the kid was – and thrown him onto the bed. Brian had a weird flashback to some scene in ‘Gone With the Wind,’ but he shoved it out of his head right before he buried his cock deep into the impatient, demanding Justin. Yes, that big bed had a lot of bounce in it. And so did Justin’s plush ass!

Now light was flooding into the room from the bay windows and the fire in the hearth had burned down to glowing ash. And Brian and Justin were enveloped in what seemed like acres of white marshmallow fluff. The downy mattress. The huge, soft pillows. The lace-edged sheets. In the dark while they were fucking it hadn’t seemed so bad, but in the light of day Brian was horrified. He had to get out of there and clear his head before he suffocated in the fluff.

“Hey,” said Brian, nudging Justin. “Get up. It’s time for breakfast.”

“Breakfast in bed?” Justin yawned.

“Yeah, right here,” said Brian, pushing Justin’s head against his dick.

Brian sank back on the big pillows while Justin went down on him eagerly. Maybe he could stay in the fluffy bed for a few minutes more. If he closed his eyes it felt just fine. Better than fine, actually. Pretty great.

 

***

 

“So, where to today?” Brian asked as they finished up breakfast. 

He noted three other couples in the dining room, all straight, white, and middle-aged. Mrs. York and another woman in an apron were going around to each table, refilling coffee and chatting with the guests.

“The Antique Market?” said Justin, hopefully.

Brian groaned. “No sex clubs or nude beaches in the area, huh? Or Prada outlet stores?”

“Not really,” said Justin, looking at a booklet he’d picked up the night before in the village. “But there’s the big Antique Market – it’s got a flea market, too – and then some of the individual shops in Wiley and all along these two roads.” He pointed to the map where stars indicated the stores.

“Oh, boy,” Brian mumbled, finishing his coffee. “Sounds peachy keen!”

“Come on, Brian! It’ll be fun!” Justin took a red pen from his jacket and marked the map. “We can start at the main Market and go from there.”

“More coffee?” asked Mrs. York, suddenly standing there, coffee pot in hand. “What are you boys looking for? Furniture? Collectibles?”

“No more for me, thanks,” said Brian, pushing his cup away. Brian almost asked the woman where the nearest backroom was located, but he doubted she would get the joke.

“I want to look for old prints,” said Justin. “Folk art. Toys and dolls. Maybe movie memorabilia, too. Brian likes old movies.”

“Ask for Charlie Newberg at the Antique Market. He’s the best for prints and art. Tommy and George have dolls and toys. Tommy has one of the biggest collections of Barbies in the state. Do you boys collect Barbie dolls?” asked Mrs. York.

“Yeah,” Brian snorted. “I’m looking for more furniture for my Dream House!”

“Just ignore him,” said Justin. “He hates antiques and only likes modern stuff. But I thought I’d try to find something nice for my little sister Molly. She loves dolls.”

“Then definitely talk to Tommy. He’ll find you something special,” Mrs. York said before moving off to the next table.

“Jesus, Justin!” said Brian. “Grown men collecting Barbie dolls! No wonder straights think fags are fucking nutcases.”

“She never said those guys were gay, Brian,” Justin pointed out. “That’s your assumption.”

Brian took out his wallet and laid it on the table. “Want to make a bet? A hundred bucks against your ass that the doll guys are a couple of old queens.”

Justin wrinkled his nose. “I think I’ll pass on that bet.”

“Ha! I rest my case,” Brian said, standing up. “Let’s move it.”

The Antique Market was a sprawling complex of wooden buildings and tents that looked like a makeshift fairground. On a Friday morning the parking lot was already crowded with cars and SUVs. Justin noted license plates from many places besides Pennsylvania, including New York, Virginia, New Jersey, Ohio, and Ontario, Canada.

“How the fuck do you find anything in this mob?” asked Brian as the pair made their way into the main building, which was painted to look like a red barn.

“I don’t know,” said Justin, looking around. “People just seem to know where they’re going.”

“Well, don’t get lost,” said Brian, linking his arm through Justin’s. All the people pressing against him was starting to make him nervous.

“Why don’t we just follow the flow?” Justin suggested. “It’s not like we’re in a hurry to get anywhere in particular.”

Brian sighed heavily. “I thought you were looking for those prints? And the dolls? How can we find them in this fucking maze?”

“We’ll find them,” said Justin, pulling Brian by the arm. “Leave it to me.”

Brian allowed Justin to lead him up and down the rows of booths. He’d never seen so much worthless junk in his life. Old pots and pans. Battered furniture. Piles of tarnished jewelry. How the fuck were you supposed to find anything of value in this mess? A few of the larger dealers had nicer displays, with the merchandise much cleaner and arranged in a way that you could actually see it. Brian moved over in that direction.

“That’s the expensive stuff, Brian,” said Justin. “Mrs. York told me that the real bargains are here in the flea market section.”

“Yeah, that’s why they call it a flea market, Justin,” Brian scoffed. “Everything is full of bugs!” 

Justin stopped in front of a table loaded with old plastic toys. “Look at this G.I. Joe! My dad has one like this! It’s only $5!” He picked up the doll and examined it avidly.

“Five bucks for that fucking thing? It’s missing an arm, Justin!” said Brian.

“It’s a collectible,” Justin reasoned. “How old is this doll?” he asked the woman tending the table.

“That action figure is a 1964. First year issue,” she said. “It’s highly desirable.”

“It doesn’t have an arm,” said Brian, taking the doll out of Justin’s hands and putting it back on the table. “It’s junk.”

“That’s why it’s only $5 and not $50, sir,” the woman replied. “If it was in the original box the price would be quite a bit higher. In the hundreds.”

Brian grimaced. “Who keeps a cardboard box for 40 years? These people are crazy!”

“That’s why it would be valuable, sir,” the woman informed him. “It’s rarer with the box.”

“Do you know a man named Charlie Newberg?” Justin asked. “Or Tommy and George?”

“Sure!” the woman smiled at Justin. “Charlie Newberg is in the next building over. With the print and book dealers. And Tommy and George are right over there.” She pointed to a large display in the corner.

Brian saw an array of Barbie dolls, spread out like Miss America contestants on a homemade stage with velvet curtains and little spotlights pointed at them. Then he saw Tommy and George.

“Hey,” said Brian. “Look at that, Justin. It’s a good thing you didn’t take my bet. Because there are your doll guys in all their glory!”

Justin squinted at the display. “And that’s where we’re going!” he said, tugging Brian’s hand. “Right now!”

“I was afraid you were going to say that,” Brian replied. But he let himself be dragged once again, this time right up to Tommy and George’s Wonderful World of Barbie.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Barbie World.

The Antique Market, The Laurel Highlands, Pennsylvania, March 2005

 

“Tommy!” George poked his partner in the ribs. “See what’s coming this way.”

Tommy looked up from dressing a 1967 Midge in a pink sundress and followed George’s gaze. “Too pretty!” he exclaimed. “I just love young and juicy blonds.”

George rolled his eyes. “Not the little blond, you berk! The tall dishy number in the black leather jacket! You are such a chicken chaser, luvie. I don’t know what I’m going to do with you.”

“It’s too late to get rid of me now,” Tommy said smugly.

The two men had been romantic partners for 21 years and business partners for 18. They had met when Tommy was on a buying trip to England in 1984. He was looking for antique silver settings and he found them at a shop on Portobello Road. He also found George on Portobello Road, lounging outside the Duke of Wellington pub, and they had been together ever since. Now they owned their own shop just outside of the village of Wiley, Pennsylvania, but their weekends were spent at their booth in the Antique Market, exhibiting (and sometimes even selling) examples from their extensive collection of vintage dolls and toys.

“Hey,” Justin greeted them. “Are you Tommy and George?”

“I’m Tommy, honey,” Tommy said delightedly. “And this older gentleman here is George.” George was exactly 13 months older than Tommy, but Tommy never let him forget it.

“Mrs. York at the Fieldstone Inn said that you have dolls. I’m looking for something for my sister,” said Justin. There were a lot of older dolls arranged on a large table, but Justin’s eyes kept moving to the impressive Barbie display on the miniature stage against the wall. “She used to have a lot of Barbie dolls, but nothing as elaborate as the ones you have.”

“Why bless Mrs. York for directing you here,” Tommy gushed. “I’ll have to send her a thank you note!”

“You do that, luvie,” George sniffed. He wished that his partner wasn’t forever falling all over the youngest pretty boys. It was embarrassing, especially at Tommy’s age.

But the young man’s boyfriend – now there was something much more to George’s liking! He was a real man and that always caught George’s fancy. He was tall and perfectly groomed and turned out, even in casual jeans and a leather jacket. In fact, there was something very European about the man’s sense of style. About the way he had his hair cut. His perfect manicure. And his skin looked as if he took time with it as well. It was unusual to see an American man who took such attention with his looks these days. Younger Americans always looked messy to George. Like they didn’t care how they appeared to others. Or as if it wasn’t manly to care about your appearance. But this fellow was both stylish and manly. Yes, George liked that very much. Let Tommy fall all over the skinny piece of chicken and leave the other one for George to drool over!

“Don’t you think Molly’s a little old for Barbie dolls?” Brian asked.

“She’s 12, Brian,” said Justin. “She’ll be 13 in October. But she still has a lot of dolls in her room. She doesn’t play with them, but she has them.”

“Oh, my dolls are not for playing with, honey,” Tommy interjected. “They’re all collectibles. What young lady wouldn’t love to display beautiful dolls like these? Here’s a lovely one. It’s a 1965 Barbie wearing a vintage dress.” He took down a doll wearing a long, tight black dress. The doll was posed in front of a plastic microphone stand as if she was about to break into song. “This is ‘Solo in the Spotlight.’ It’s a classic.” Tommy smiled fondly at the doll. “Perfect condition! See the hair? And the earrings? You’d never know this doll was 40 years old.”

“She must have a really good plastic surgeon,” Brian deadpanned to Justin. “With the accent on ‘plastic.’”

Tommy shot Brian a scathing look, but George laughed out loud at his comments. This fellow was a real mixer, he was! George enjoyed seeing someone take the piss out of Tommy occasionally. His partner took everything so seriously, especially his dollies! Too seriously, to George’s mind. To him, antiques were a business, not a frigging religious vocation.

“How much would a doll like this cost?” asked Justin. He thought Molly would go nuts for something like that. He extended his hand to touch it, but Tommy pulled Barbie away from his grasp.

“Oh, she’s not for sale,” said Tommy, setting ‘Solo’ back on the wooden stage. “But a doll like it might go for anywhere from $500 to $800 – depending on condition. of course.”

“$500?” Brian almost spit. “For a fucking Barbie doll?”

“It’s a collectible, young man,” Tommy said grandly. “And in first-rate condition.”

“Yeah, every piece of trash we’ve seen today is a ‘collectible’ – supposedly,” Brian huffed. “But I haven’t seen anything yet that I’d pay 5 cents for let alone $500!”

“We’re going to look around a little more,” said Justin, taking Brian’s arm. He thought it might be a good idea to move on before Brian really insulted the man and his dolls. “But we’ll be back later.”

“And we’ll be right here, young man,” said Tommy. “We’re here every weekend, from Friday to Sunday. Let me give you my card.” He handed Justin a business card embossed with the names of Tommy and George alongside a drawing of Barbie.

“Jesus,” said Brian as he and Justin worked their out of the main building. “Guys like him give flaming queens a bad name!”

“He was a little over the top, but the dolls were really beautiful,” said Justin.

“Yeah, and fucking expensive, too,” Brian said. “It’s one thing to buy a kid a toy and another thing to make it into some kind of fucking fetish. That guy is way too into those dolls. I thought he was going to hyperventilate when you reached for that Barbie. I bet he doesn’t let anyone even breathe on the things!”

“That’s because they’re valuable, Brian,” Justin reasoned, wanting to give the older man the benefit of the doubt.

“Listen, my collection of Armani suits is valuable – for as long as they’re in style. The minute they’re out of style, then they’re fodder for the Goodwill. The same with anything. It’s just stuff, Justin. It’s nice to have and nice to use. But once it’s served it’s purpose, then get rid of it.”

“Your friend Michael collects comic books,” Justin reminded him. “And he has a store and sells them to other guys who collect comic books. So it isn’t just freaky old queens, Brian. It’s a lot of people. Maybe those things make them happy? Maybe they help them remember their youth or something? That’s not a bad thing.”

Brian shrugged. “It depends on whether or not you want to remember. When I was a kid I used to have a bunch of model airplanes that I made. I kept them on my shelf and was pretty proud of them. But that was when I was 11 years old. Now I’m a man and I have different priorities. You might say that I collect other things.”

“Like guys?” Justin asked bluntly. “Tricks?”

“Maybe,” Brian replied, but his voice was more subdued. “Like I said, you move on. Other things start to seem more important than things you valued so highly when you were younger. Those model airplanes would look a little silly in the loft. And maybe a lot of other things would, too – now.”

Justin slipped his hand into Brian’s. “Let’s find the guy with the prints, Brian. And after that – how about some lunch? I’m starving!”

“The Taylor Food Clock strikes!” Brian laughed. “Okay. You lead the way!”

And Justin did exactly that, but not before a leaned up and kissed Brian, right in the middle of the Antique Market. Yes, he needed to do that. And Brian needed to have it done. 

Priorities, after all.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Browsing.

The Antique Market, The Laurel Highlands, Pennsylvania, March 2005

 

Brian and Justin found the side structure, where books and prints were located, much less of a zoo than the main building of the Antique Market. The crowds were thinner and less manic and the dealers more relaxed as they sat on folding chairs, reading, chatting with customers, or going through piles of musty books, trying to determine their values.

Brian still wasn’t crazy about the whole idea of antiques and collectibles, but at least with books the items themselves had an intrinsic value rather than just a being a worthless object to stick on a shelf and collect dust. 

A hand-painted sign indicated Charlie Newberg’s booth and Brian and Justin headed directly for it. Charlie was a man in his 50’s with long, greying hair in a ponytail and Ben Franklin-style glasses perched on his nose. He was perusing a stack of old encyclopedias, sniffing and making mumbling sounds as he leafed through them.

“Water damage,” he huffed to no one in particular as the pair approached his booth. “Half the pages are stuck together and three of the volumes are missing. Why would anyone think that these are valuable? They’re garbage!”

“That’s what I’ve been saying all day,” said Brian. “Until we came in here.”

Charlie snorted. “You been over at the main building? In the market for some fake 18th century furniture? Or broken china?” Then Charlie laughed shortly. “Or plastic toys from McDonald’s?”

“We’ve already seen that stuff. Not interested today, or tomorrow, or ten years from now,” Brian asserted. Finally – someone as cynical as he was! For an old breeder hippie, Charlie Newberg didn’t seem half bad.

“We’re looking for art prints,” Justin piped up.

“Original stuff or reprints?” Charlie asked, tossing the warped encyclopedias on the ground.

“It doesn’t matter,” said Justin. “I’m an artist, not a collector. I’d just like something interesting.”

“Let’s see what we have, young man,” said Charlie, standing up slowly. Brian noticed that he walked with a limp. 

The man motioned Justin over to where he had prints stacked on a table. “These are mostly old magazine prints. This group is 19th century. These over here are early 20th century.”

“I like these,” said Justin, pulling out some of flappers posing against blocky-looking backgrounds. “They look Art Deco.”

“You have a good eye, young man,” said Charlie. “Those are from around 1926. And here are some from World War II. Most of these are advertisements.”

“Brian!” Justin called him over. “Look at these old ads. They’d make an interesting display for your office at Vangard. Can’t you see them framed and hanging on your wall?”

Brian looked over the ads. Justin was right – they might be an interesting choice for an office in an ad agency. Brian marked the use of scantily-clad pin-up girls to sell everything from soap to automobiles to war bonds. Yes, they used sex to sell everything back then, too. But Brian also noted a distinct lack of hot, scantily-clad guys.

“Maybe,” said Brian. Justin sorted out some of the prints with growing excitement. Once that kid got his mind on something he was as focused as a laser beam. 

“This one from the turn of the century,” Justin pulled out a Coca Cola ad featuring a woman in a long, sweeping dress drinking a bottle of Coke. “And this one from the 1920’s. And the 1930’s.” He was selecting ads from every decade and laying them out on the table. “You could have a progression showing the history of advertising. And you could end it with one of your own campaigns, Brian!”

“That’s actually a pretty interesting idea,” said Brian, studying some of the prints Justin had selected. All of them featured attractive people using their sexuality to sell the product. Even the woman in the Coke ad with the long dress had a seductive look in her eyes as her lips caressed the bottle of cola.

“You in advertising?” Charlie Newberg asked Brian. 

“I’m with the Vangard Agency,” Brian replied as he watched Justin arrange the prints. “In Pittsburgh.”

“I worked in publishing for almost 10 years in Philadelphia,” said Charlie. “That was after I got back from Vietnam and out of a rehab hospital. But I hated the pressure. It got to me after a while. Can’t deal with the pressure.” The older man’s face darkened. “I don’t make a lot of money doing this, but I don’t have any of the stress I used to. Books are quiet. And people who like books are quiet. They don’t push you. You know what I mean?”

“I think so,” said Brian. “I understand what you mean about pressure. The ad game is nothing but stress and noise. Sometimes you need a little peace and quiet. Like around here.” Brian thought about the Fieldstone Inn. The quiet room with the hearth. How the mountains looked from the window. And the big, soft bed.

“Yeah, this is a nice area,” said Charlie. “I sell a lot of stuff over the internet out of my house these days, but I still come to the Market on the weekends. How are you doing over there, young man?” he asked Justin. “Find what you’re looking for?”

“These are my favorites,” Justin told him. He had nine prints laid out on the table. “I’m trying to decide which ones I can afford. Are they all the same price or does it depend on how old they are?”

But before Charlie could answer, Brian stepped in. “We’ll take all of them.”

“Brian, I was only going to get a couple!” Justin insisted. 

“They’re for my office, aren’t they?” Brian reasoned. “So we need all of them. And I’ll pay. You’re right, Justin, they’ll be a good conversation piece. I’ll have Cynthia send them out to be framed.”

“Sounds like a good idea.” And Charlie Newberg smiled for the first time. “That’s a real nice collection of prints.”

Brian winced. “Don’t say collection! That’s what those doll and furniture people do – collect crap. This is an investment. And it’s decor for my office.”

Brian paid for the prints and Charlie wrapped them up. “You fellas coming back tomorrow?” he asked. “If you’re interested in first edition books, I have some fine ones.”

Brian shrugged. “It depends on what else there is to do around here. And as for rare books, I don’t really have a place for that sort of thing. I live in a very modern loft and old books don’t really fit my lifestyle.”

“Well, if you ever change your mind here’s my card.”

Brian took the card from the man. All the dealers had cards. If you spent the entire day in the Antique Market you’d come home with your pockets bulging with the things.

“I think it’s time for lunch,” said Brian, shepherding Justin and the package of prints outside and back to the Corvette. “Get out your guide to the local hot spots.”

They got into the car and Justin looked down the list of local restaurants as Brian revved up the Vette’s engine. But then Justin started to laugh

“What’s so funny?” asked Brian. “Other than you conning me into buying all those prints?”

“You don’t do collecting, Brian. You hate old junk!” Justin grinned. “What do you call the Vette? It’s a collectible! A vintage car. And you paid plenty for it!”

“That is completely different!” Brian maintained. He was stung by the comparison. “My Corvette has nothing in common with a broken G.I. Joe or a bunch of slutty-looking Barbie dolls!”

“Keep talking,” said Justin, smugly. “Collector.”

“Yeah, YOU keep talking,” said Brian. “You’ll pay for that smart mouth. I’ll have to fill it with something. Something really big.”

“Promises, promises,” Justin sighed as the Vette peeled out of the parking lot and headed up the winding road into the mountains.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Lookout.

The Laurel Highlands, Pennsylvania, March 2005

 

After a mediocre lunch of overcooked burgers at the Red Kettle Café in Wiley, Brian and Justin didn’t return to the Antique Market. Instead they decided to drive up into the mountains and have a look around.

There were a number of places along the road that were indicted on the map as ‘Scenic Views,’ but Brian was dubious. “I don’t need some bureaucrat from the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania to tell me what view is ‘scenic’ and what view isn’t worth a look. I’m not an idiot, after all!”

“They’re just letting us know where there are good places to stop,” Justin pointed out. “Otherwise we’d drive right by them without knowing.” Justin studied the map. “Go a little further up this road and there’s supposed to be a park. We could get out and walk.”

“I forgot my hiking boots,” Brian returned. “And my Cub Scout uniform.”

“We don’t have to go very far, Brian,” said Justin. “I’d like to see the view.”

Brian turned in at the sign for the park, which was little more than a glorified rest area. There was only a small parking lot, rest rooms, a picnic table, and a sign board with a map tacked onto it.

“I think I’ve tricked here,” Brian commented as they got out of the Vette. “Or somewhere that looked just like it off the Pennsylvania Turnpike.” 

“Doesn’t seem too busy,” said Justin, noting the deserted parking lot. He checked the map on the board. “If we walk up the path a way there’s a lookout. It says you can see most of the valley from there.”

Brian sighed melodramatically and shook his head. 

Justin turned and gazed at Brian. His face was a mask of disappointment.

“If you want to leave, Brian, then say so,” said Justin, dejectedly. “I thought this weekend was your idea. But it’s obvious that you hate everything about this place – the inn, the Antique Market, the town, the food, everything. So why don’t we go back to Pittsburgh? That way you can be safe in your loft. And I can go back to Dartmouth a few days early and stay in the dorm until Spring Term starts on Tuesday. Okay?”

But Brian didn’t answer. He was staring down at his Prada boots and couldn’t look Justin in the eye.

“I said it’s okay if you want to leave,” Justin repeated. “Didn’t you hear me?”

“I heard you,” said Brian, suddenly taking Justin by the elbow. “Come on. Let’s walk.”

The gravel trail was just wide enough for two. They walked in silence as the trail became steeper and the trees that had pressed thickly on either side began to thin out. And then they were at the end of the trail.

Justin could smell the difference in the air as they approached the lookout. They were much higher than Justin had imagined and the view was dizzying. A wooden fence arched around an outcropping of flat stone that leaned over the valley far below. 

“Wow!” Justin breathed. He moved forward for a better look.

“Justin! Be careful! Don’t get too close to the edge,” Brian warned, clutching at Justin’s arm. Brian wasn’t afraid of heights himself, but he also wasn’t certain how safe this area was. The wooden fence didn’t look very secure and he could see where some rocks from higher up the mountain had slid down to the lookout during the harsh winter months.

“Are those the Appalachians?” Justin asked, pointing to the dark range looming in the distance.

“I think so,” said Brian. “We’re only in the foothills. Those are the real thing over there.”

“When I was a kid a friend of my parents quit his job to walk the Appalachian Trail,” Justin said. “I remember my dad telling my mom that the guy was crazy. But I thought it was great, like a real adventure. To decide to do something like that and then just do it. The trail starts up in New England and ends somewhere way down South. It took him a year to walk the whole thing.”

“I think I’ll pass on that stroll,” said Brian, putting his arm around Justin’s shoulders. “Like I said, I forgot my hiking boots.” But it really was beautiful, Brian thought. And so quiet. The loudest thing you could hear was the wind sweeping down the valley. “Look! There’s a hawk!” Brian pointed to a bird soaring on the currents high above the lookout.

“It looks too big for a hawk,” said Justin. “Maybe it’s an eagle? I wish we had binoculars so we could see it up close.”

“Next time we’ll have to come better prepared,” said Brian.

Justin glanced up at Brian. “Next time?”

Brian shrugged. “You never know. I bet this place looks pretty once all the trees get their leaves. And then in the fall when the colors turn.”

“I’m sorry I bitched at you in the parking lot,” Justin said softly. “I know you’re having a terrible time and are only doing all this stuff because... well, I’m not really sure why you’re doing it, actually. But I’m having a wonderful time, Brian. I wanted you to know that. Even if we pack up and go back tonight, it’ll still be one of the best times I’ve ever had in my life. And that’s because we’re together. That makes it special.”

Brian brushed his fingers across Justin’s face. It was windy and chilly at the lookout – it was still March, after all – but Brian felt a warmth moving through him. Like something that had been frozen for a very long time was thawing deep inside. 

“No, Justin,” Brian replied. “I was only having a momentary queen out. I don’t want to go home tonight. Besides, the room is paid for through Monday morning. It’s just that I feel like I’m too far outside my comfort zone. I’m not used to all of this. The country. The people. All this fucking nature. And that big, ridiculous bed.”

“I like that ridiculous bed, Brian,” Justin informed him. “And the fireplace. And the Antique Market.”

“I know,” Brian nodded. “That should really worry me.” But, strangely, it didn’t worry Brian. He wasn’t certain why it didn’t worry him. Brian was usually less than tolerant of people’s tastes that did not mirror his own.

Justin wrapped his arms Brian and leaned his head against his chest. “Maybe you don’t mind me so much, Brian. Maybe you might even get used to having me around – if you let me stick around a while.”

“I don’t know, Justin,” Brian replied. “But I don’t think it’s my choice anymore. Something is going on. Something that scares me.”

Justin smiled. “I don’t think you’re afraid of anything, Brian.”

“No,” said Brian. “Only everything that I can’t control. And that puts me in a tight little box. That’s the way I’ve lived my life – hiding in that box. Do you know that my mother still doesn’t know I’m gay? And I only told my father when I knew he was going to die.”

Justin was surprised to hear that. Brian was the most out person he had ever met in his life – except maybe for Emmett Honeycutt, who seemed to have been born out. “Then you understand what’s going on with me and my father.”

“Yes,” said Brian. “I understand perfectly. That’s why I’ve never pushed you to do anything about it. I put on a good front, but underneath I’m a fucking coward. I tell other people to come clean, but I can’t face my own goddamn mother and let her know the truth. And I can’t face the truth about myself. That I’m fucking lonely and miserable a lot of the time. I say that I value honesty over everything else, but if you can’t be honest with yourself....” Brian paused. There was a tightness in his throat. “I’m trying. But it’s difficult.”

Justin slipped his hands under Brian’s leather jacket and rubbed his back through his sweater. He felt so strong. Brian’s body looked thin, but his arms were like iron and when he moved Justin could see every muscle, like in a Greek statue. Being in those arms made Justin feel safe. But it also gave Justin strength, too. Justin knew that he couldn’t hide behind Brian. Because Brian was human, too. Vulnerable. That in many ways Justin was the stronger one. More grounded. More certain of who he was and who he wanted to be. While Brian, who seemed so confident and fully-formed, was still searching for himself.

“It’s getting late,” said Brian. “Let’s go back to the inn and get cleaned up. We have reservations at one of those places on your list of hot spots. Let’s see what culinary delights the locals can dish up.”

“I’m ready,” said Justin. “And next time we come up here we’ll bring the binoculars. So we can see all the way to the mountains.”

Yes, thought Brian. I want to see as far as I can. See something I’ve never seen before. Even if it’s right beside me.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A quiet evening.

The Fieldstone Inn, The Laurel Highlands, Pennsylvania, March 2005

 

Justin was so tired he couldn’t move.

Of course, he didn’t really want to move.

He was stretched out on top of Brian in the big bed in their room in the Fieldstone Inn and Brian was slowly stroking his ample ass cheeks. That felt good. Everything felt good, even if they both were completely exhausted.

Justin knew the Fieldstone Inn was a popular spot for honeymooners, but he doubted that even the most avid of breeder couples had ever given the canopied bed quite as much of a workout as he and Brian had that night.

They had actually started in the Corvette after they left the restaurant where they had eaten dinner. It was an Italian place and Justin had wolfed down a large plate of excellent linguini in white clam sauce, while Brian ate his vegetable risotto with much more restraint.

“You do realize that this isn’t your last meal, don’t you?” Brian had remarked as he watched Justin put his dinner away. 

“I know,” he replied. “But it’s so good!”

The restaurant was a small, family-run enterprise and the more Justin dug into his food with obvious glee, the more the waitress, who was also the daughter of the owner/chef, brought him more. More salad. More of the crusty garlic bread. And more wine. A lot more wine, until Justin was definitely tipsy.

At the end of the meal the chef himself brought out two large cannolis. “On the house!” he told the pair. “Because you have enjoyed your dinner so much!”

“You mean there’s still food left in that kitchen he didn’t eat?” Brian said in disbelief.

But Justin kicked him under the table and grinned at the chef. “Thanks! It looks great. Everything was great!”

Justin ate his cannoli straightaway, but Brian had his wrapped up to take back to the hotel. He admired Justin’s appetite, but he didn’t share it. While he enjoyed good food, he rarely stuffed himself. Food had never been a priority in the Kinney house while he was growing up. His mother was an indifferent cook and his father washed everything down with booze anyway, so Brian tended to think of food as something peripheral to his existence. While Justin ate, Brian thought about the empty refrigerator in the loft. Well, empty except for beer, juice, Perrier, and a supply of poppers.

Once out in the Vette they decided to drive a bit before going back to the hotel. Now that Brian knew his way around the area he wasn’t afraid of getting lost and having to ask some locals for directions. He hated the feeling of not knowing where he was. 

It was a clear, chilly night. The full moon illuminated the landscape – farm fields and the hills that rose into mountains as they drove. They found another ‘Scenic View’ rest area not far from the inn and made out there like a couple of teenagers. Of course, Justin had never made out with anyone, not even his sort-of girlfriend, Daphne, when he was in high school, and that made it all the more exciting. The only problem was that the Corvette’s gearshift kept getting in the way.

“I used to have a Jeep,” Brian explained after the knob of the stick had poked them for about the tenth time. “That was a real Fuckmobile. But this thing....”

“Then why did you switch to the Vette?” Justin sighed as he zipped up his pants.

Brian shrugged. “I don’t know. It seemed like a good idea at the time. I remembered seeing these cars when I was a kid and thinking that you had to be a pretty cool guy to drive one. I’d made some extra money at the time and wanted to buy something totally useless and extravagant for myself. Hence, the Vette.”

“I still think it’s the perfect Fuckmobile,” Justin grinned. “But if you don’t mind, Brian, can we go back to the inn? If we stay here I’m going to be black and blue in the morning!”

“You’re going to be black and blue anyway when I get through with you,” Brian promised. But he also drove directly back to the Fieldstone Inn to move what they had started in the Vette up to another level.

And now Brian was thinking about how content he was. That was a strange feeling. When you thought about Brian A. Kinney the last word you thought about was ‘content.’ Driven, maybe. Successful. Definitely hot. Or troubled. Fucked-up. But never content.

He gently caressed Justin’s ass as he lay on top of Brian in the hideous Laura Ashley-strewn bed. Brian had fucked his share of asses in his life – enough for a roomful of more repressed gay men – but rarely had he ever stayed like this afterwards, allowing himself the satisfaction of the moment.

Justin stirred, shifting his head slightly and softly kissing Brian’s chest. The little hairs around his nipples tickled Justin’s nose. It felt wonderful.

“That was great,” Justin murmured.

“Of course,” Brian replied. “I’m always great.”

“You’re so funny, Brain,” Justin said. “On one hand you’re such a fucking egotist, but on the other hand you’re so insecure that you don’t trust yourself to let go for even one second.”

“Seems I let go a number of times this evening,” Brian retorted. “Both in your mouth and up your tight little ass.”

Justin sighed. “I don’t mean let go sexually. That’s not your problem, Brian. I mean emotionally.”

“Ah, emotions!” Brian really wanted a cigarette. Or, even better, a joint. But there was no smoking allowed in the inn. “Sweet mystery of life, at last I’ve found you!”

Justin pinched Brian’s right nipple gently. “Stop! I know you like to make a joke about everything, but emotions are real. And they aren’t only for straight people. I’ve seen you with Gus. I know how strongly you can feel things, Brian. You can fool other people, but you can’t fool me. I’m onto you.”

“You’re onto me, huh?” Brian sniffed. “I wasn’t aware that there was a ‘me’ for anyone to be onto.”

“Keep telling yourself that, Brian,” Justin replied. “The Perfect Facade. The Mountain of Ice. The Fuck Machine. Brian Fucking Kinney. But I know better. I think that’s why you keep me around – so the truth will never get out.”

“You certainly talk a lot, don’t you?” Brian said. But there was no annoyance in his voice. Only a quiet acceptance of Justin’s assertions.

“Do you ever wish that you could stop time?” Justin asked. “Freeze the moment so that you could stay in it forever? So we could stay?”

“Sometimes,” Brian conceded. “But if we freeze this moment it would like admitting that it was the culmination of something – or the ending.”

“And this isn’t the ending, is it, Brian?” Justin said.

Brian shook his head. “No, it isn’t the end,” he said seriously. Then he laughed. “Besides, I don’t want to be frozen in time while I’m surrounded by gallons of fucking Laura Ashley marshmallow fluff!”

“Marshmallow fluff, Brian?” That cracked Justin up. “I don’t mind the fluff at all. I want you to fuck me again in the middle of the fluff. I want to melt into the fluff with your cock inside me!”

“Jesus,” Brian moaned. “I’ve created a monster.”

“I know,” said Justin. “I know.”


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vintage clothes.

Ilona’s Vintage Clothes, The Laurel Highlands, Pennsylvania, March 2005

 

“This is dumb,” Brian grumbled, pausing the Vette at the Stop sign.

“Turn left here,” Justin instructed, looking from the map to the crossroads. “It should be about a mile down this road.”

“This is a fucking waste of time,” Brian continued. 

“Well, we could go back to the Antique Market,” said Justin. “We’ve already spent the whole morning there. We could spend the afternoon there, too, if that’s what you want to do?”

“No!” Brian almost shouted. “No more Antique Market! Please!”

Brian had allowed himself to be coaxed back to the Market first thing on Saturday morning. And the fruits of that return trip were in the trunk of the Vette: two vintage Barbie dolls for Molly and a Lionel train set for Gus from the Tommy and George toy collection, some old magazines that Justin was planning to use to make collages, an antique necklace for Justin’s mother, small presents for Debbie, Lindsay, and Melanie, and an original movie poster for an obscure Marlon Brando film that was one of Brian’s favorites, ‘One-Eyed Jacks.’ That was the only real find of the day, Brian thought. He wasn’t certain what he was going to do with the poster, but the moment he saw it, he wanted it.

And then there was the cookie jar.

That was also in the trunk. Against Brian’s wishes. Against his principles. Against everything that he stood for as a man and a queer.

A fucking cookie jar.

A cookie jar in the shape of the fucking pink flamingo.

“No way!” Brian had hissed when Justin’s hands went around the hideous piece of crockery. “That’s too horrible even for Debbie Novotny! Every time I’d go into her house and see it, I’d get physically ill!”

“I wasn’t thinking of getting this for Debbie,” Justin replied. “I was thinking of getting it for myself.”

“Jesus, Justin! What do you want a monstrosity like this for?” Brian couldn’t fathom it. Justin was an artist with an excellent eye – at least Brian thought so. Why in the fucking world would he want this... this pink horror?

“It’s funny,” Justin explained. “Silly. Having it around would be like a joke. No one would think I’m serious. Not like with all that junk Deb has. She really thinks her stuff is pretty. But I want this cookie jar because it’s... it’s....” Justin searched for the correct word.

“Because it’s campy,” Brian finished for him. “Like feather boas. Ridiculous little dogs with bows on top of their heads. Bette Davis impressions. ‘The Rocky Horror Picture Show.’ Emmett Honeycutt. Campy bullshit. I say – no fucking way!”

Brian hated camp. He hated that it was probably the most identifiable aspect of gay culture. For many people it WAS gay culture – and that bugged the hell out of Brian. It symbolized their marginalization. And not the outlaw kind. Not the edgy, sexual side of queer life. But the clownish, eunuch side. The thing Brian most despised. A fucking pink flamingo!

So why did he find himself taking out his wallet and buying the fucking thing?

Carrying the fucking thing out to the Vette and putting it in the trunk?

What alien entity had possessed him so thoroughly, so utterly?

“It should be right along here, Brian,” said Justin, putting the map away.

Yes, that’s what had possessed him. A piece of blond ass.

A few moments later they saw what they had been searching for. Another refurbished farmhouse, like many in the area. With the requisite red barn behind it. And a sign in front that read: “Ilona’s Vintage Clothes.”

Justin had been pawing through some old clothes at one of the booths at the Antique Market and had asked the woman who ran it if she had any men’s clothing.

“No,” she replied. “But I know where you can go to find some.”

And now here they were.

The red barn may have looked like a barn from the outside, but inside the place was more like a trendy boutique, bright and tastefully decorated. In the front was a large selection of women’s vintage clothing, most with designer labels. But in the rear Brian could see racks of men’s suits. Shoes. Ties. Coats. And he headed back there like a fashion-guided missile.

There were clothes from all decades, not merely the more recent vintage he had expected to see. The first thing Brian found was a mint condition Burberry trenchcoat that was certainly from the 1950’s. Then a pair of leather pants that screamed Jim Morrison, circa 1969. A fawn Ralph Lauren suit from the ’80’s. A powder blue Pierre Cardin Edwardian jacket from the early ’60’s. So many fucking amazing things! In a barn in fucking Pennsylvania!

“Where did you get all this stuff?” Brian asked the owner, the Ilona of the sign outside. “Like this Burberry?”

She was a 50-ish woman, tall and very thin, who held herself with the haughty languor of a former model. She was smoking a long, brown European cigarette, and she spoke with a vaguely Eastern European accent.

“That raincoat? England, darling,” she answered, blowing out a puff of smoke. “At a house sale in Devon. The man died and left 40 years of wardrobe behind. I bought all of it. Some pieces you see here. Others I consigned to a store in New York City. The rest I sold online. The computer, you know?” She shrugged as if Brian would not have ever heard of such a strange contraption. “Many items had never been worn. I do not think the man got out all that much. But he was very rich and had excellent taste in clothing. He had four Burberry trenches. This is the last one left.”

“I’ll take it!” Brian yelped. It fit perfectly and Brian knew that Burberry coats were made like iron and never wore out.

“You are too tall, darling,” she stated, running her eyes up and down Brian’s lean form. “But you are a decent size nevertheless.” Ilona rolled another rack from the storage room and began to look through the clothing hanging on it. “This should fit you,” she said, taking out a 1970’s sharkskin suit. “And this.” A punky Vivienne Westwood shirt. “This also.” A pair of Versace pants from the early ’90’s.

Brian immediately stripped off his jeans and sweater and began trying on the clothes in the middle of the barn.

“He is not shy, your friend,” Ilona commented to Justin as Brian stood in his 2(x)ist briefs while deciding which pair of pants to put on next. It was an impressive sight.

“No,” Justin agreed. “Brian is not at all shy.” 

“Justin! Could you hand me that red shirt?” Brian called. And Justin laughed as he went over to assist him.

“So, how do you like this place?” Justin could see that Brian was in his element and he was enjoying the private fashion show immensely. Justin had never before seen Brian in full shopping mode and it was quite an educational experience. “Aren’t you glad we came here?”

“What do you think of this color?” Brian asked about the Pierre Cardin jacket. “I don’t think this blue is right for me. It’s too pale. However, it would be perfect for you.” Brian removed the jacket and made Justin try it on. “A little big, but my tailor can alter it.”

“It suits him,” said Ilona in her husky voice. “He looks like a little Mod boy with his blond hair.”

Brian also tried on a pair of vintage boots, some belts, and a number of ties. His hoard of treasures kept getting bigger, much to Justin’s amusement.

Finally, Brian had sorted out what he wanted. Justin gulped at the size of the bill as Ilona tallied it up. But Brian never even blinked. He took out his Gold Card and handed it over.

“In New York these clothes would go for triple that amount,” Brian told Justin as they carried the haul out to the Vette.

“Are we going to be able to fit all those clothes in the trunk?” he asked.

“Only if I toss out that fucking pink flamingo cookie jar,” Brian declared, pretending to reach for it. But then he laughed. “We’ll put some of the stuff in the trunk and rest behind the seats. There’s enough room back there for most of the odds and ends.”

“So my cookie jar can stay?” Justin said, batting his eyes appealingly.

“Don’t push your luck, Sunshine,” Brian admonished. “You aren’t that cute!”

“Whatever you say, Brian,” Justin grinned. “As long as I can have my pink flamingo.”


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back at the inn.
> 
> Only one more after this in "Spring Break."

The Fieldstone Inn, The Laurel Highlands, Pennsylvania, March 2005

 

On Saturday night Brian, dressed in his vintage sharkskin suit, and Justin, wearing a too-large powder blue Pierre Cardin jacket, ate dinner at a local restaurant that did a passable impersonation of a provincial French auberge. Justin had rabbit for the first time, Brian had duck, and for dessert they shared a huge slice of chocolate gateau. Then they returned to the Fieldstone Inn and spent much more time in the large whirlpool tub than was necessary merely to get clean.

Sunday morning the pair awoke and found a large Easter basket filled with fruit, chocolate, and fresh flowers at the door of their room.

“I completely forgot that it was Easter,” said Brian, thinking of Gus.

“That’s okay, Brian,” Justin replied. “We have presents for everyone when we get back. You can go and see Gus tomorrow and give him the trains. He’ll understand.”

“I didn’t get anything for Michael’s kid,” Brian said. “I didn’t think of it. Typical of me. I bought plenty of shit for myself this weekend.”

“No, Brian,” said Justin, putting his arms around his lover. “It’s not typical of you. You always take care of everyone and that’s the truth. We both forgot. So we’ll stop at the Antique Market after brunch and find something nice for her. Okay?”

“I guess so,” Brian shrugged.

“Come on,” Justin prodded. “Let’s go to brunch.”

The Fieldstone Inn always did a big Sunday Brunch, opening the dining room to non-guests, so the place was packed on Easter. Justin helped himself to eggs, bacon, and pancakes from the large buffet, while Brian took some fruit and a bagel. Mrs. York found them a table in the corner and they ate while they watched a progression of families go through the food line.

“I always liked Easter,” said Justin. “I loved the chocolate bunnies. I always bit off the head first and then finished the rest later.”

But Brian didn’t reply. He poked at his fruit with his fork listlessly.

“We have to leave pretty early tomorrow morning, Brian,” Justin reminded him. “My flight for Boston leaves at 2:00.”

“I’ll get you to the airport in time,” said Brian. “Never fear.”

“I’m not worried.” Justin took a deep breath. “This will be my final term at Dartmouth. Commencement is on June 12. Doesn’t seem possible. Four years flew by.” He waited for Brian to say something, but there was nothing. “I need to think about what I’m going to do after I come back to Pittsburgh. Brian? Are you listening to me?”

“I’m listening, Sunshine,” Brian said. Then he looked up at Justin. “I thought you were going to move into the loft? Or have you changed your mind?”

“No, Brian,” Justin said in relief. “I haven’t changed my mind. But we never really discussed it, so I wasn’t sure.”

“If I had changed my mind, you’d know about it.” Brian set down his fork. “So what’s there to discuss?”

Justin hesitated. To his mind, there were dozens of things for them to discuss. How much of his stuff could Justin bring with him to the loft? What would Justin do now that he was out of school? Find a job? Where? What about his art? What about his parents? What would his father say? Should he introduce them to Brian? What would their reaction be to Justin living with his older boyfriend? That was another thing – what exactly WAS the nature of their relationship? How did Brian feel about all of this? Was he in love with Justin the way Justin was in love with Brian? That was one thing that Brian had never articulated clearly. Yes, Justin thought there was plenty for them to discuss.

“Come on,” said Brian, pushing his plate away. “Let’s take a ride.”

They drove back to the lookout and stayed for a while watching for the hawk, but they didn’t see it. Justin had remembered to bring his camera this time and he took a lot of photos, mainly of Brian standing and staring at the distant mountains. Then Brian took some pictures of Justin, mainly grinning.

After that they went back to the Antique Market and found an Easter gift for Jenny Rebecca – a homemade quilt with yellow ducks around the edges.

“Too bad we couldn’t find one with pink flamingoes,” Justin commented wryly. 

Brian gave him a quizzical look. “The kid is already being raised by a pair of dykes and you want to make it worse by adding flamingoes?”

“A few flamingoes never hurt anyone, Brian,” said Justin.

For their last dinner they went back to the little Italian restaurant in Wiley. Both Brian and Justin flirted with the giggling waitress and she brought them free ice cream for dessert.

“We need another bottle of champagne for tonight,” Brian told Mr. York as they reclaimed their room key. “And a wake-up call for 7:00 a.m.”

“Certainly, Mr. Kinney. I’ll bring the bottle right up,” said Mr. York, making a note on his pad. “I hope you’ve enjoyed your stay with us?”

“Yes,” Brian answered. “I think we have.”

The champagne was good. So was the fire. And Brian was getting used to the fluffy bed. It was amazing what you could get used to if you only allowed yourself. Even get comfortable with. 

Justin had found some old Big Band music on the radio. Probably the local NPR station, Brian thought. Artie Shaw. Glenn Miller. Benny Goodman. A lot of throbbing horns and mournful melodies. Music to dance to, but in a melancholy way. Music made during wartime. Music for a desperate moment that would never come again.

Listening to it made Brian feel nostalgic. He didn’t know why. He hadn’t lived during the Big Band era but he watched a lot of old movies. There was something about that time that made Brian feel both happy and regretful at the same time. He knew what Justin would say. That it was because it was romantic. That word again. Absurdly romantic.

Justin got out of bed and went over to the hearth to put on another log. He bent over and Brian laughed at how much he was enjoying the view.

“What are you laughing at?” Justin demanded.

“You,” said Brian. “The naked servant boy, feeding the fire.”

“Who’s a servant boy?” Justin challenged.

“If you’re going to be my houseboy, then you’ll have to get used to it.” Brian set down his glass of champagne and also got out of bed.

“I knew there was a reason why you wanted me to move in with you,” said Justin. “You want a cheap houseboy!”

“No,” said Brian. “Never cheap. You cost me more than you’ll ever know.” Brian went over and caught Justin in his arms. “Can you dance?”

Justin was surprised. “Sure. We belong to the Arcadian Country Club. All WASPy country club boys take dancing lessons. Their mothers make them so they can escort the daughters of their parents’ WASPy country club friends to proms and coming out parties.”

“Well,” said Brian. “This is a different kind of coming out party. So – will you?”

Justin’s eyes widened. “Will I what?”

“Dance with me?” Brian replied. “We have all this music and a nice space in front of the fireplace. Seems a shame to let it go to waste.”

“Oh, we haven’t wasted it,” Justin smiled, thinking of what they had already done on the rug in front of the fire. “But I’m game.”

It felt strange to dance naked. To press his body against Brian’s in such a different way. But it also felt good, Justin thought. It felt right. Brian wasn’t the world’s greatest dancer, but he was good enough. More important was the way they moved together. Smoothly. Naturally. The same way they made love.

Justin closed his eyes and thought about how much this meant to him. To have this perfect moment. This perfect weekend. This perfect spring break. And it was only the beginning.

Brian closed his eyes and thought about what he wanted from the rest of his life. He had never planned very far ahead before. He had never wanted to think about the future. He was a man who lived for the moment. But even perfect moments ended. It was the time between those moments that really counted. And what you did with that time while you had it in your grasp.

Brian braced Justin against his powerful body and lifted him off his feet, spinning him around while Justin laughed and laughed. Then he bent him back and kissed him.

They were safe for now. And that was all that mattered.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> News.
> 
> The Finale of "Spring Break."

Pittsburgh, April 2005

 

“Do you have any questions, Brian?” the doctor asked.

“No,” said Brian, trying to keep his voice steady. “No questions.”

Whenever he was in his oncologist’s office, Brian felt like he was a child again. The stern authority figure whose word was law. The utter loss of control. The gut-clenching fear that he didn’t dare show. The knowledge that there was no escape.

No escape. Cancer would be something that would never really leave him. It was a part of his life, like his sexuality. Like his fucked-up family. Like his son. Like....

“Then I’ll let you go now,” said the doctor. “Please schedule your next appointment at the front desk.”

Brian stood up. “Thanks, Doc.”

“No problem, Brian,” said the doctor, patting his shoulder reassuringly. “Keep your chin up.”

“Ah,” Brian replied. “The famous chin. Yes, Doc, I’ll keep it up. Along with whatever else I can get up.”

The doctor laughed. “You’re quite a kidder, Brian. Good luck.” Then he walked out of the examining room to see another patient, leaving Brian to get dressed.

In four days it would be his 34th birthday. Not bad for a guy who almost didn’t make it to 30. Or 31. Or 32. Or 33. No, against all the odds, Brian was still here. For now.

Brian thought about how much he wanted to be here. Maybe he hadn’t felt that way in the past, but now he did. He used to consider that the future was something to hate. It meant you were older. Slower. Not as hot. That you were moving inexorably toward your expiration date. And in the clubs and the bars, even in a second-rate burg like the Pitts, once you were past 30 that expiration date was closer with every minute that ticked by.

Tick, tick, tick.

Brian assessed himself in the mirror as he knotted his tie. No matter how much of that French anti-aging cream he used he still didn’t look 19.

He’d never look 19 again.

He’d never be 19 again.

But in a few days he’d be 34.

For 34 he thought he looked okay. Better than okay. He was still hot. For 34.

Not that Brian couldn’t find guys to fuck. That had never been a problem. His reputation alone was such that he’d always find guys willing to see if the Brian Kinney Legend was true. Or guys who had already tested that legend and wanted more. There always seemed to be a never-ending supply of hot guys.

Younger guys.

Always younger. Now.

Brian remembered the time when he had been the hottest young stud in town. Back then he liked older men. Guys who knew something about life. Guys who had experience. Who knew what to do with a dick and who appreciated the enthusiasm of a talented newcomer. And Brian had learned all that he could from each one of them before he moved on.

Then in his twenties Brian liked guys his own age. Guys like himself. Hot and hard and balls to the wall. Willing to try anything. Do anything. Fuck hard and fast and then on to the next. Like subway trains, there was always another guy coming in a few minutes. And then going. 

And that was the way Brian liked it.

Until things happened.

Life happened. His son happened. Cancer happened.

Things were changing.

Brian could feel it, inside and outside.

Brian put on his jacket. He was wearing a vintage Yves Saint Laurent suit circa 1976 that he had bought from Ilona, his new crack dealer, when he had driven out to her shop the previous weekend. He also got a pair of Prada shoes that had never been worn and a handmade British linen shirt, as well as some Italian silk ties.

Ilona had taken his measurements then and told him that she would be on the look out for things that would suit him when she traveled to Britain and Europe later that spring. Brian was looking forward to seeing what she brought back. It might even be worth taking a trip abroad himself to see what he might be able to find.

Well, it was a thought. But not too likely right now.

Maybe some other time. Maybe later.

“I need to make an appointment,” Brian told the doctor’s receptionist. He handed her his paperwork.

“Certainly, Mr. Kinney,” she said, checking her computer while Brian took out his Filofax.

She scheduled him and a few moments later he was out the door. It was sunny and in the 50’s. Spring was in full cry. Perfect weather for driving the Vette. Perfect weather for so many things.

He thought about a year ago. He had still been suffering from the aftermath of his radiation treatments. Still feeling ill and weak, not to mention impotent. That had been the most difficult thing. That and the fear that he’d pick up a trick and then fail with him. That word would get around quickly: Brian Kinney can’t get it up. The thought of losing his precious reputation was almost as bad as the side effects of his treatment.

Brian got into the Vette and lit a cigarette. He needed to steady his nerves.

Last year when he had been diagnosed, shortly after Vic’s death, he hadn’t told anyone. He felt there was no one to tell. No one to share the news with who wouldn’t freak out or pity him or drive him crazy with their smothering care. When all he wanted was someone to understand. To stand back and let him deal with it. Someone who would be there, silently but vigilantly. Someone to count on.

But there had been no one.

Brian had gone through the initial operation and biopsy alone. And the radiation, too. Some days it had been impossible for him even to lift up his head. The loft was an empty, forsaken place during that time. Some nights, when it was the darkest, Brian thought that he would surely die there. Alone.

But people eventually found out, usually by accident. Cynthia and Gardner because of his difficulties at work. Michael by being his usual nosy self. Deb because he finally knew that he had to tell her or she would kill him. And his mother – from Debbie.

But now....

Brian took out his cell and hit a number. Other than his Vangard numbers for work, it was his most-called.

Brian listened as the phone purred away, trying to connect.

It went to voicemail.

“Justin?” Brian said, knowing that he must be in class at this time of the day. “I wanted to let you know so you don’t worry. I just finished at the doctor’s office. It’s official – I’ve been cancer-free for a whole year. Hurray for me, right? I have to go back in six months for another check-up, but the doc said that everything looks good. So that’s the story I’m sticking with!” 

Brian paused, wanting to say more, but not wanting to say it to a machine. “I... I’ll talk to you tonight, Justin. Later.”

Yes, he thought. Later.

 

* FIN *


End file.
